


A Night in Sorgan

by slothinsocks



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:01:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21666355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slothinsocks/pseuds/slothinsocks
Summary: The Mandalorian begins to realize what he might be missing out on.
Relationships: The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 116





	A Night in Sorgan

———

The skies above Sorgan glistened with the light of thousands of stars, twinkling high above the endless forests stretching in all directions from the small, farming community. It reflected deep into the pools surrounding thatched huts and small barns. A gentle breeze would stir and rustle the long grass outside, making a sound just faintly above a whisper.

It was the truest form of peace, one not so easily forgotten. Nearly two weeks ago, The Mandalorian had assisted an ex-shocktrooper in taking down a pack of raiders that threatened the sanctuary nestled within the clearing. It was a tough battle, especially when training inexperienced foreigners to fight. He was a skilled warrior, used to a rougher lifestyle. 

Their success yielded time to be spent here, away from the foulness that other places had. Sorgan was a serene planet, he couldn’t deny that. The three of them all needed a break. 

He found it difficult to fit in — an adept, armored warrior amongst a colony of simple farmers. It wasn’t really the proper setting for him. The Mandalorian was only here to provide the child with a good place of living. The life of a bounty hunter wouldn’t be healthy for a kid — he needed this life, a place to embrace what childhood he had left.

The night sky bounced off of his shiny, silver helmet, bright as ever. He made his vigil outside on the front deck of the barn, watching the village populace celebrate, huddled around a large, roaring fire. His thoughts seemed displaced at the moment — he didn’t join in on any festivities. It was easier to watch from a distance.

The child was tucked safely within the arms of his traveling companion, a Mirialan he’d known for a handful of years, now. It was fascinating to see how she interacted amongst farmers and villagers. Jola wasn’t well-adjusted to a domestic lifestyle. Like him, opting for solitude was all that she knew. 

However, she seamlessly slipped into the role of caretaker for the kid, a matronly trait buried deep within her. As a man who knew her for a longer time than he’d admit to, he knew of her rougher side, the calloused part of her that yearned for battle. Perhaps it was something to do with the Force — her people had a deep connection to it, and she could wield it. Maybe it made her softer.

He’d gazed from afar, keeping a close eye on the pair, who sat close to the flames. She was feeding the little green monster with a spoon, entertaining him with her babyish chatter and constant giving of attention. The child cooed and began his churring of contentment, little fingers reaching for her dark tresses. 

“What’s stopping you?” 

His head turned slightly, watching closely as Cara Dune appeared beside him, a mug of a frothy beverage within her right hand. Her sturdier frame was still bolstered with armor, though her blaster wasn’t anywhere to be found on her person.

“Stopping me from what?” The Mandalorian replied, though he had a notion lingering in the back of his mind that told him otherwise. He knew what Dune was referring to — how could he not? Was it blatantly obvious to so many? 

“Don’t play coy, Mandalorian.” Cara smirked, quirking a dark eyebrow before motioning toward the Mirialan. “Her, your ‘companion’. What’s stopping you from pursuing her?” She asked again, pressing the question further. 

“Jola and I have a history,” He hesitated, “But she’s only here to help. That’s all it’s ever been.” He turned away, ogling the emerald-skinned woman through the black slits of his visor. Underneath, his brows were furrowed together, concentration scrawled across his features.

“You should consider settling down here. You, the Mirialan, and the kid. You’d make a handsome family — two out of the three of you are as green as the grass.” Cara’s smirk soon shifted into a grin of amusement, as the Rebellion shocktrooper took a swig of her drink. 

The Mandalorian suppressed a chuckle, though didn’t make any immediate comments on Dune’s line of thought. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t thought about it before — he and Jola. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t nearly acted upon it, though he knew she needed someone better than him. 

“I can’t give her what she needs.” He stated, his husky, baritone voice wrought with a slightly sorrowful tone. “She and I have been traveling together for a long time. It isn’t the life she deserves.” 

“You can give her what she needs. It’s the helmet that’s stopping you — it’s the sense of duty, what you owe to your people.” A noticeable pause soon filled the air, silence wafting between the pair. As the stars danced across the black skies, Cara Dune was formulating something else to share with him. “Listen, you just met me, but . . . Don’t spend your entire life letting it dominate you.” She sighed, motioning toward the helmet as the mysterious ‘it’. 

The porch groaned and shuddered as she traipsed off, hopping from the edge and into the tall grass. The Mandalorian watched as she slipped away into the darkness, making for a different hut on the outskirts, closer to the water. Until her form disappeared completely, he tore his eyes away, shifting back to Jola.

His vigil continued — and it would stay that way.

——————

“Why didn’t you join the others?” 

Her tempered voice resonated throughout the barn, long after the fire had gone out. Jola’s form was clad in a simple tunic and trousers, a change from the usual leather armor ensemble she wore around. 

The Mandalorian had almost leapt into action — foreign noises always startled him. Being on such high alert often made him react harshly, though unintentionally so. He lifted his head, staring at her through the visor. 

“It’s not for me.” He answered, collected and unremarkably. Placing his rifle against the wall, he ran a tattered cloth over it, cleaning his weapon for upkeep. He felt Jola’s gaze settled upon him, yet it didn’t prompt any remark from his lips. 

Jola’s thin-lipped expression didn’t harbor any frustration towards him for not joining. A hint of disappointment touched her eyes, though she didn’t make it known. Instead, her hand snapped back to force the woven door shut with a soft thud. 

Waddling across the floor, the child cooed and babbled, making his way toward the makeshift cot that Mando had graciously crafted for himself. He fell onto the blankets in a heap, gazing at the Mandalorian with those wide, dark eyes.

One little emerald hand attempted to snatch at the toe of his boot, before he plopped down into a sitting position. Drool was pooling all over his chin, a byproduct of having recently been fed a hearty bowl of stew. Swaddled within his brown garments, he stood up once more, peering endlessly at the armored man.

“What?” The Mandalorian grumbled, feigning agitation before stooping down to pick him up. His left arm formed an L-shape, a crook that the little one fell into, being cradled within the bounty hunter’s arms. It was difficult not to find the child devilishly cute — though it was Jola who sparked a response.

The Mirialan was observing in silence, a soft smile having graced her features. Her black, geometric tattoos had glistened in the dark, catching the slits of moonlight that poured through the curtain-clad windows. “He loves you.” She stated, her tone both thoughtful and entranced with his child’s behavior.

“I think you’ve mistaken me for you.” He replied, stepping towards her, the child still curled up within his arms. His mind began to wander back to what Cara Dune had told him earlier, and he nearly cursed himself for it. “The two of you are similar.” It sounded better in his head. Their similarities were clear: green in complexion and Force-sensitive.

“He’ll need good caretakers. A child like him alone in this world is a dangerous thing,” Jola murmured, and at last, her verdant hues had peeled themselves away from him, and towards the snoozing bundle within his grasp. “Many will want to take advantage of him. Children gifted with the Force are few and far between.”

The Mandalorian hesitated, choosing his next words carefully. Silence filled the room, standing stagnant between the pair. A soft sigh escaped him, and he directed his gaze toward the child. He was beginning to fall asleep, the snoozing soon turning into a deep slumber. 

“That’s why the two of you should stay here.” 

————

Disbelief and shock had replaced her once-tender expression. Jola appeared offended that he would even suggest such a thing, her brows knitting together to form a mask of frustration. He knew he was in for an earful, placing the child down into the crib, and moving him towards the front, away as to not wake him.

“You’re leaving us?” Jola whispered, confused as to why his suggestion had hit so suddenly. Her fingers had tensed, curling into defiant fists as her arms crossed over her chest.

“It’s better for the kid, and it’s better for you.” He stated, his voice beginning to harden, try and make it seem as if he meant it. The Mandalorian found it so terribly difficult to dismiss her like this. “You and I have traveled together through plenty. It’s time you have the life you deserve, Jola. Bounty hunting isn’t what the kid needs in his life — and it’s not what you need.”

Rage soon saturated her visage, sinking into every pore with a bridled frustration. “You do not know what I need,” She hissed through her teeth, tears threatening their way past her lids. “You do not know what I want, or what’s good for me. You are thinking of yourself.” She snapped, her voice getting higher.

At last, he became angry. “I’m looking out for you and the kid. None of this is about me.” He quipped, his stance becoming rigid, defensive. “This isn’t the life I would want for myself, Jola. Not if I were you.”

Jola felt her teeth gnash together, and she bit back another scathing retort. Her rage was slowly being replaced with something similar to heartbreak. It was unnatural for her to feel this way — hours ago, she was jovial and happy at that fire. He had to go and ruin it with his talk of dumping them here on this planet. 

“You aren’t me,” She whispered, sorrow finally replacing her anger. There was a sadness within her eyes that made him nearly back away. “What I wanted was you.” Jola’s admission came with quite the heavy load on the both of them. Her hands slipped away, and her stance shifted from standoffish and indifferent to defeated.

He wasn’t entirely sure how to react to her words, yet it all seemed to reflect back to the conversation he’d had with Dune. A silence once again permeated the air between the two of them, though he contemplated what choices he had. “Jola,” His voice had become faint through the modulator, “You know that I can’t.” The Mandalorian knew what she wanted now — he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

“I believe you can,” The Mirialan approached him, taking tentative steps forward until she was mere inches away from him, toe-to-toe. Her gaze begged and pleaded with him to comply, and her hands lifted themselves to the base of his helmet. “Trust me.” Jola whispered, and every bit of her tone sounded so gentle, compassionate — he wanted to trust her so terribly.

His hands rose to stop her, grasping gently on either side of her wrists. Jola’s fingers tensed against the smooth, metallic surface of the helmet. They remained that way for several moments.

“Please.” The word rolled from her tongue so languidly — almost as if it were in slow-motion. It was an incredibly intimate moment for a man who had yet to experience an emotion so intense, yet so exhilarating. Jola wanted to see the man she’d known for so long, the man she yearned for. It was an itch that had developed into something powerful.

He didn’t want to stop her. 

The world seemed to fall still as her hands grasped either side of the Beskar helm, lifting it tenderly from his head. His breath trembled, and he nearly shuddered once air had actually fluttered across his visage. It felt so strange to have the helmet off in front of another — yet she, above any other, deserved to see the most.

Jola grasped the helmet in one hand, moving momentarily to shove it against the windowsill. Her hands were free, and their first action was to collect his face into her loving touch. The Mandalorian sighed, welcoming the feeling of soft palms gliding against his cheeks. The pads of her thumbs trailed wherever he allowed, touching his rugged visage with the utmost care. Dancing across the stubble that lined his cheeks and jaw, it felt prickly underneath her hands. 

His skin was a beautiful shade of tan, and his dark hair remained ruffled by the removal of his helm. Jola drank in his appearance as if it were their final moments together, unable to tear herself away. It was as if time stood absolutely still, and the Mirialan admired him with doting affection that poured from her gaze and body language. His nose was slightly crooked, as if it had seen one too many fractures. Swiping her thumb across his lower lip, her mind began to swim with fantasies she’d had conjured up long ago.

Without another word, she’d leaned closer, allowing her mouth to meet his in a tender kiss. The woman’s lips were so incredibly soft and full, she showed no signs of roughness or ruggedness like he did. Jola’s hands remained still against his visage, though the longer they embraced, the stronger her curiosity became. 

Her fingers threaded themselves into his hair, grasping with a steady hand. A shudder coursed down the length of her spine as the leather of his glove met her waist, his grip snug enough to keep her there. A hand that could easily hurt her and leave bruises instead met her with a strange tenderness that she hadn’t experienced before. It was so foreign to her, yet so unbelievable that he allowed her to touch him like this, to share in her affections. What was more unbelievable was that he returned it all so gracefully. 

He was the first to pull away, pondering her expression with plenty of thought. His eyes were dark — when the light reached them, the coloration was that of a muddy-brown. Her hands began to snake themselves against the silvery Beskar armor that covered him, though he promptly stopped her. 

Before Jola could take a step back, his arm had tensed around her, locked in a position that wouldn’t compromise her escape. “No,” He said, his husky voice just barely above a whisper. Finally, his free hand lifted, and he’d tugged away the hardened leather material that covered his right hand.

Allowing his palm to settle against her face, Jola leaned into his touch, feeling so starved without such contact. Her eyes had briefly fluttered shut, and one of her own hands lifted to gingerly rest atop the one pressed to her cheek. 

He kissed her again, yet it was fervent, nearly feverish with passion as he drew her closer, keeping his hand against her face. Jola embraced him all the same, her hand slipping to the nape of his neck, the heel of her palm near his throat. A sound formed there, and it was felt rather than heard. She wanted to touch him — all of him. So many years left in the dark, and she had just scratched the surface. 

After their series of passionate kisses ebbed away, he finally untangled himself from her, stepping away, back into the recesses of the barn atop a small loft, where his makeshift cot was located. It was a heap of straw and blankets placed against the ground, yet it would do more than suffice for her. Neither of them spoke, and the silence had become comfortable. 

His hands deftly began to pry away the silvery plate of his Beskar armor, allowing it to collect in a neat pile atop his cape. Jola hadn’t seen the man underneath the armor — even when patching up his injuries, the amount of bronze skin she saw was minimal. She watched, and moved forward to assist.

He was unused to having help with this, but he understood the importance of it. Their hands met in some places where Jola would share a fleeting smile with him. Other times, she’d beat him in the removal process, much faster than he thought. Seeing him without any obstruction above the waist was just as fascinating as it was tantalizing to her. The small window that rest beside the wall next to the loft was enough to provide gentle, atmospheric lighting. 

Without hesitation, he picked her up, strong hands securing themselves at her hips. Placing her on the edge of the windowsill, still concealed by the thick, woven curtains, he could touch her as she did to him. Slipping his hands underneath her tunic, he helped her tug it off. Jola was exceptionally beautiful, emerald skin appearing flawless, and it didn’t take him long to begin exploring her for the first time. 

Her form was smooth to him, unblemished. He wanted more, and so he proceeded, her consent noted with a mere nod of her head. Peeling away the loose pants she wore, he brought her in for a kiss, kneading his hands into her waist, firm yet not enough to harm her. 

Once more, her delicate palms pressed to his face, nearly clinging to him as their tenderness soon dissolved into something heavy, needy. Feverish with passion, her teeth skimmed across his lower lip, almost invoking a challenge. Her free hand moved to drape across his shoulder, able to finally feel more of him. The Mandalorian’s bronze skin was scarred in many places, yet not all of him was as rugged as some believed. 

He no longer seemed so reluctant to embrace desire, no longer handling his actions with such caution. It had been tossed away long ago, the minute that she had admitted she wanted him. One of his hands moved from waist to thigh, taking ahold of her as he dragged her closer, hitching one leg around him. Their kisses never ceased, and before long, he was pulling her off of the windowsill and toward the loft. 

The Mandalorian’s back hit the pile of blankets and hay, with Jola looming over him, knees placed on either side of his lips. She straddled him with ease, palms gliding from his collarbone to the hem of his pants. “Is this what you want?” Jola asked, her voice hushed. The child was still several feet away in the crib. 

“Yes,” He breathed, no turning back now. He needed this, and Jola was there to provide him with it. Nimble digits slipped past the hem, traveling underneath to wrap around his length. He nearly gasped, though instead opted to grit his teeth together, suppressing a hiss. 

Trailing her tongue across her lower lip, Jola maneuvered herself with a striking expertise, dragging her hand along the base of his cock, indulging herself with touching him. Watching his expression made her feel some surge of confidence, and slowly, the Mirialan began to stroke him, her other hand spread out across his abdomen. 

Grunts and soft pants left him in droves, his expression contorted into one of pleasure. Jola never stopped, pleased with her handiwork. As she began to move faster, the pad of her thumb grazing the head of his cock, he bit back a moan, eyes fluttered shut, lips parted. 

Had he never been touched like this before? She could only wonder. Her hand began to feel slick, yet she wouldn’t stop there. Jola continued to deliver, pumping her palm along his cock until he forced her hand away with a startling suddenness. 

“Stop,” He breathed, chest rising and falling in a series of swift pants. 

Jola appeared surprised, though his gaze had become dark with lust. She’d certainly activated a new side to him, one she hadn’t seen. The emerald-skinned female gulped thickly, watching as he thrust himself upward, tangling himself around her. Switching their positions, she found herself trapped underneath him, breath hitching within her throat. 

His hand clasped around the fabric that covered her chest, tearing it away with a single thrust of his arm. He wasn’t a lanky man, though he wasn’t entirely bulky with muscle, either. It was a perfect medium, his form hardened and toned underneath her palm. 

Keeping himself propped upright, some of his weight beginning to bear down upon her, he slipped one hand between them, keeping it close to her stomach. His fingers dipped between her thighs, forcing her legs to part for him. His gaze reflected a hidden intensity, and Jola simply couldn’t look away from him. 

Two digits slipped themselves inside of her, working fervently the moment they’d found their purchase. A strangled gasp escaped Jola, though she’d lolled her head back slightly, attempting to keep quiet as his dexterous fingers stirred within her. 

It was a challenge to keep the volume at a minimum, and only the soft whines and whimpers escaped her, with moans bit back deep into her throat. The comforting warmth of his body pressed firmly against her, nearly enveloping her. His lips finally collided with hers once again, and Jola began to feel the aching burn of her longing, clinging to him like a drowning woman.

His hot breath fanned across her features, spreading down the length of her neck and into the hollow where her shoulder met with her collarbone. Yet his fingers continued to work themselves inside of her, forceful enough to make themselves known, providing Jola with a near euphoric sensation. 

Nipping at her jugular, his teeth continued to drag themselves across the expanse of her neck, leaving marks that flourished afterward. Languid kisses found themselves peppered even lower, before he stopped to focus on the motions of his hand.

Slick between her thighs, Jola’s chest rose and fell swiftly with wanton pants, and his fingers proceeded to leave her. However, they were swiftly replaced with something far more desirable. Already warm and aroused from her ministrations beforehand, the Mandalorian felt his way up her body, securing themselves before pushing his cock further into her, hips pressed against hers.

Her legs had positioned themselves into v-shapes, the heels of her feet digging down into the very edge of the blankets. Jola’s hands had clamored to tangle around him, fingers sweeping through his hair before finding a spot to clutch onto.

His motions became faster, a touch erratic. Thrusting hard, the hand that had been propped to steady himself wound up near her head, his fingers pressing into the thin blankets. The other held tightly to her hips, almost used to guide her as he slammed himself into her, finding the perfect angle needed to bring them both to an orgasmic pinnacle.

Grunts and softer groans elicited from him, some being emptied into her ear, sending shivers throughout her entire body. She struggled to keep quiet, her nails beginning to dig themselves into his scalp, which hardly phased him. Snapping his hips back and then forward, his rhythm was rough yet passionate, hard and full of a quaking desire.

Jola’s legs began to tremble, and he could feel them quiver around his physique. With every thrust, he squeezed at her hips, never forceful enough to leave bruises. He knew the right amount of pressure to not hurt the Mirialan. Her hands slid from his hair to his back, gliding themselves along his musculature with ease, hopefully enough to coax him further.

With another series of deep-seated thrusts, he released a noise that sounded akin to a growl, and with his husky baritone, it was enough to bring her to her knees. Unable to keep herself together, Jola moaned, hoping that it wasn’t loud enough to attract suspicion. The loft creaked at times and occasionally groaned with the force behind his fucking, yet when he finally began to slow, it stopped altogether.

Shuddering, his face contorted into satisfaction, and the two had each experienced quite the powerful orgasm, though he didn’t pull himself out of her immediately afterwards. A soft pant left him, and his iron-like grip upon her waist began to slack, allowing her to finish out without his intrusion.

Removing himself from her, his fingers moved to readjust the clasps and buttons upon the leather trousers he wore, and promptly, he’d moved back into a sitting position, a thin layer of perspiration glistening upon his back and chest.

Jola sat up alongside him, moving to find a blanket to wrap herself in. He turned to face her, and without speaking, he leaned in to kiss her. One of his hands threaded throughout her mane of black tresses, and as they parted, she pressed her face against his. He didn’t pull away, and instead, he embraced her. 

It was strange to lay down beside her, to have another to sleep with. Yet, the Mandalorian never objected to it, nor did he try and move away from her. Tangling on arm around her, he pressed her against his chest, brows furrowing together. 

For once, he sleeps soundly without feeling so empty. 

————

**Author's Note:**

> This OC is one I’ve had in the mill for a long time! If you’d all would like to see another, I wouldn’t mind adding more of her history in.


End file.
